Bruised and Broken
by Icebabe59
Summary: Molly has been in an abusive relationship and John catches on. Slowly working on this in my free time, but the first chapter can be read as a oneshot. TW for abuse
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: My least favorite part of writing fanfiction, but necessary all the same. I do no own BBC Sherlock or Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I did however come up with this idea for the story on my own based on how I think and feel.**

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Molly always found solace when coming into the lab, everything was easy and straightforward. People were the difficult things to deal with, the ones with the emotion. The case load for today was simple, only one little old lady brought in, natural causes thank goodness. Molly wheeled her out of the cooler and placed her on a slab and prepared the body for autopsy careful not to bump into anything that might hit one of her bruises. She was glad though that today the autopsy was not her job. She would assist when the other doctor came in, but today she didn't have to make the cuts.

Molly set about working on the paperwork as she waited for her colleague to come in. There was always endless paperwork in this job, but she doesn't mind at all. Paper is emotionless too, just like the metal instruments and the cold bodies she works with. Peoples' emotions are the problem, maybe Sherlock had a point. She inhales sharply as her arm bumps against the filing cabinet hitting the sore spots from this morning. Yes, Sherlock has a point.

"Oh speak of the devil." She muttered as Sherlock came bursting through the doors to the lab, causing her to jump slightly, he chattered away about whatever case he was working on with John who followed him closely. Molly smiled a little as she watched; she wished she had a friend like that, someone who would be loyal enough to put up with her absurdities, maybe someone who would listen to her.

She helped Sherlock as best she could with whatever he was asking for; it was all kind of a blur as she focused more on making sure all of her bruises were covered. She pulled at her coat every once in a while, but still sure that Sherlock didn't notice.

While Sherlock didn't notice, though John did. John saw how Molly jumped when Sherlock made his usual loud entrance into the room, and how she tugged at her sleeves as if she was trying to hide something.

It didn't take long for Molly to get Sherlock set up and he went upstairs to the computer lab. John lingered behind knowing that Sherlock could be occupied for a while and he could tell Molly needed . . . something.

"Molly, are you alright?" John asked quietly, hoping that he wouldn't startle Molly by talking to her somewhat abruptly.

She was startled, but told herself not to jump at the sound of John's voice, but she did feel her shoulders tense, she relaxed quickly though as she turned to John with her best fake smile. "Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" She asked.

He walked across the room to the swivel chair Molly was sitting on slowly, careful not to make any more noise than necessary. He had seen the look in her eyes before in some of the men out in the field. The men who hadn't been able to cope with the violence they saw on the battle field, those who were the strongest physically, but whose mental capacity simply did not match. He had even seen the look in himself once, until he had managed with the help of others to talk himself back to reality.

"Molly, I can tell you are not alright. Do you want to talk about it?" John asked. He was now standing close enough to Molly that she was fidgeting with her lab coat.

"John, go help Sherlock. I'm fine, really." She responded with a light smile wondering if maybe all she would have to do is say it enough and John would believe her.

"Sherlock doesn't need my help for this one. I can sit here all day if I have to." John pulled a chair up to the desk Molly was working at. "If you don't want to talk about it then let's talk about something else. What sort of paper work are you working on?"

Molly focused on her paperwork, not looking up from her desk as she heard the chair scrape across the floor. She was careful not to move other than to write a few things down on the papers in front of her and note the time. The other doctor would be coming in at any moment now and she wasn't going to discuss this with John.

"I'm making sure everything is in order for the autopsy. If the other doctor doesn't come in soon it looks like I will be performing it alone." Molly did respond to his last question. She didn't mind having someone to talk to.

If there was one thing John had learned from his psychiatrist it was that patience is key. "Well I'll keep you company then." He picked up one of the medical texts, thumbing through it.

"You – you'll need to stay quiet, I record my findings while I work." Molly stammered before double checking to make sure that all of the equipment was in place. Her newest fly on the wall just grunted noncommittally and continued looking at the text book. Molly sighed; this was going to be a long three hours.

When Molly was done she called the doctor who was supposed to be in to find out that he had suddenly gotten sick and had been unable to call in. It wasn't a huge inconvenience, and she hoped he would get better soon. She stretched out her aching muscles as she noticed that John was still sitting in the corner looking through the same medical book.

"Are you enjoying that then?" She asked with a small smile on her face.

"Not really, but it was something to do. Anything interesting?" John asked setting the book aside and standing to stretch himself.

Molly just shook her head. "Why are you still here John?"

"I want to talk to someone other than Mr. Grumpy-pants-Sherlock." John answered with a sarcastic smile that she mirrored in her own way.

"Is he still here at the hospital?" She nervously tugged at her sleeves again wincing a little when she hit one of her bruises.

"Nah, he left about an hour ago, said something about brick dust. He doesn't need me anyway, nothing dangerous. Want to go get some coffee?"

Molly shook her head. "I need to work on the rest of the paperwork."

"Do you feel like talking to me yet?" John's voice was so soft, so caring that Molly wanted to break down and cry right there.

She bit back the tears and shook her head. "John, please don't press the matter. I don't want Sherlock to find out."

"He doesn't have to know. I won't tell him if you don't want. If he hasn't noticed so far he might not for a while."

Molly just watched John for a minute. Then she made the one decision that made her feel more vulnerable than she ever had and took off her lab coat. She watched John carefully as she exposed the bruises along her arms. The only reason she had chosen not to wear a long sleeved shirt today was that no one was around when she got in or left so no one would see her change out of her coat, into her lab jacket, and back again.

John remained quiet as Molly took off her jacket. He could easily see the bruises on her arms, even from half way across the room. He also knew that she would be watching him for any reaction so he kept his face as composed as possible, but as he saw the distinct finger marks on her upper arms he let out a hiss of breath, no one should cause those sorts of marks on anyone.

"It didn't start like this, no, let me talk." Molly said in a quiet voice, cutting off John when he moved to talk. She didn't talk again until he had nodded and relaxed in his chair. "When I first met him he was sweet and kind. He took me out on a few dates, but then as things got serious stuff changed. He would say he didn't like me hanging out with friends, so I stopped that. This time he got suspicious of me spending so much time at the morgue, especially with Sherlock around so often." As she spoke Molly went back to her desk, near John, pulling her chair around so she was sitting in front of him. "You can look if you want." She offered John her arms.

He looked her arms over quietly. "You need to break up with him Molly." He whispered to her looking up into her eyes from his position slightly bent over her arms.

"No, he always apologizes and he says he loves me. I can't leave him." Molly said with a firm shake of her head.

John's grasped tightened on Molly's wrists, but as soon as he noticed he let her go hoping that he hadn't frightened her. "Molly, you can't do this anymore, this will get worse, and you can't go back to him. I will be there for you every step of the way, but you have to be done with him. Today."

Molly started crying as she met John's gaze and slowly nodded taking courage from her friend. "Alright, how are we going to keep this from Sherlock?" She asked. If Sherlock found out he would just have one more thing to make fun of her about.

"If you really wanted to keep it from me, you should have broken up with him sooner Molly," Sherlock's voice startled Molly, but the look in his eyes kept her calm, "You can stay at our flat for a little while, we can protect you until everything blows over."

Even though she knew how uncomfortable it made Sherlock for her to cry she could not hold back the tears as John carefully drew her in for a hug.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to BBC's Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes or anything like that.

Molly couldn't make herself go back to her flat for any of her things that first night. As it was she was a weepy mess that John had to bundle into the back of a cab and all but carried into 221b. Sherlock had gotten his own cab claiming that he needed to think and to be alone, but John had his own opinions on why Sherlock had opted out of a cab ride for three. Why Sherlock had not mentioned something about this before, when he knew how serious something like this was, baffled John.

By the time that she and John had arrived at the flat Molly had mostly cried herself dry, and within ten minutes of their arrival John brought her a cup of tea and she was only hiccupping a little. "T-thank you." Molly stuttered in a way that only someone who has cried themselves hoarse seems to be able to do.

"Tea is the least I can do," John replied, "and since Sherlock seems to have retreated into his room . . ." He trailed off in a way that had Molly understanding exactly what John meant. Sherlock had arrived only moments after John and Molly and without so much as a backwards glace he had walked right past them and barricaded himself into his room. There were now not so faint strains of one of Sherlock's original violin compositions drifting down the hall to the front room.

"He isn't exactly the best with emotions." Molly finished the sentence for John and he nodded in agreement before standing to leave the room, however Molly stopped him with a light hand grasping at his own and a pleading voice that almost reminded John of a little child.

"Stay, um. . . Please John, don't leave me alone." As she spoke he turned back towards her, his face soft. As it turned out she just couldn't make herself drink more than a few sips of the tea and even as John correctly looked her over to make sure that it really would be best for him to stay Molly had set the cup, mostly full, on the low coffee table in front of her.

"I'm here Molly." John replied as he returned to the spot on the sofa next to Molly.

In the same second that John sat on the sofa next to Molly she was practically burrowed into John's side. She was seeking comfort and protection on the most basic level, and that was not something John had been expecting. Many women who did remove themselves from an abusive relationship tried to distance themselves from anyone with a Y chromosome, but to Molly, John was exactly the comfort she needed.

Now the exact reasons behind this confused both of the doctors that were in the room. John was not really any bigger or stronger than Molly's _ghost_, but maybe that was part of why she could trust him right now. What he was though was a quiet sort of strong, the kind that also allowed for a soft, almost romantic side, and made Victorian maidens swoon. So maybe that was why she felt so comfortable with him.

He waited a few minutes before wrapping his arms around her, he knew a little about what a feeling of being trapped could do to an abuse victim and he didn't want to frighten her, but he could tell that she was comfortable enough with him that in this case it might help her. So he pulled her close and made calming noses until he knew she was okay enough for him to check in on Sherlock.

The brooding consulting detective was still composing some sort of sad sounding song. John already wanted to throttle the infuriating man on the other side of the door for ignoring something so important, but to top it off the overwhelming volume of the violin was more irritating than soothing at the moment. So instead of following his first instinct when it came to Sherlock John settled for knocking on the bedroom door and, once the volume lowered somewhat, told Sherlock to try and keep it quiet. Then he returned to the front room to find Molly nursing her cup of tea.

"Are you alright?" John asked her as he finished his own cup of tea in two large gulps.

She nodded quietly and set her mug back on the table before responding. "I'm okay." Her voice was weaker than John could ever remember from her, and her was about to ask her another question when she spoke again with a slightly stronger voice this time. "I hate feeling vulnerable like that; I was never like this before. It was just with _him_ everything was so gradual." By the end of her declaration John could tell that Molly was talking less to him and more to herself. This was going to be extremely difficult for her, the learning to be strong for herself, more than just being a survivor, but to be a warrior.

Not long after their talk Molly gradually fell asleep right where she was on the couch. John did his best to make her comfortable by carefully placing a pillow under her head and laying a blanket over her. He sent up a silent prayer that she would sleep well and would not be woken by bad dreams and then went to find Sherlock. He had something that was bothering him, that he needed to talk to Sherlock about.

He found Sherlock sitting at the foot of his bed. Sherlock's room had always been kept extremely clean so John had no problem walking over to where Sherlock was sitting. "You alright Sherlock?" He asked standing less than a meter away.

"Of course I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?" Sherlock asked. His voice was quick, biting, and forced.

"Good." John said nodding. "Good, because that means that I can yell at you. What were you thinking Sherlock? You knew all this time and you didn't say a thing about her being in trouble! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

Sherlock cringed away from John after the army doctor yelled at him, but he replied all the same. His voice was strained, almost tried though. "I don't know John; I guess everything just kind of got in the way. The case."

John may not condone the behavior, but he understood how Sherlock might so get caught up in a case or something that he simply considered more interesting. However, John was so hyped up on adrenaline that he could only think about how he wanted to continue yelling at Sherlock for his oversight, but that would never get through to Sherlock anyway.

So he left Sherlock to his own thoughts and walked back to the front room. There John found Molly still fast asleep on the couch. He didn't want to have her sleeping out on the sofa, but he didn't have much choice but to leave her there for now since he didn't want to wake her by accident if he tried to move her.

He settled for picking up Molly's abandoned mug of tea instead and carrying it to the kitchen, and while he was there he made himself some coffee. He planned to stay up for a few more hours, maybe update the blog or something, and to make sure that Molly would have someone close by in case she woke up with bad dreams.

Unfortunately John had been painfully correct in his prediction. Not even an hour after her quiet decent into sleep Molly woke up with a cold sweat covering the back of her neck and her breathing heavy. John had been just about to fall asleep at the kitchen table, thinking that it might be a quiet night for everyone, but was fully awake when he noticed that Molly was sitting up and swinging her feet off of the couch in an effort to stand up. He waited for her to walk to the kitchen so that she knew he was there before speaking.

"Are you okay?" He asked, standing and pulling out a chair for her. "Do you want some tea?" It was dark and Molly nearly tripped over the chair leg before she sat down and then tried to watch as John moved around the table.

"No, I'm alright, thank you though. Just sit with me?" Molly wasn't sure why John seemed to be offering tea to her so much. In fact it seemed to be the only real thing they had talked about for the last day, or at least since she had told him about the abuse.

"I am still the same person I was before John. You know that right?" She asked him as he sat across from her at the table. He looked shocked at her question.

It took both of them a long while to find the words they needed to talk everything out. Molly just wanted to make sure that John knew he did not have to walk on egg shells around her and he needed her to know that he was there to help her no matter what. They talked for nearly an hour before Molly could talk herself back to sleep and John wondered up to his own bed and fell asleep himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to BBC's Sherlock or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes or anything like that.**

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It was three in the morning when Molly woke up again, but this time instead of finding John Watson watching over her as she slept she found the one and only Sherlock Holmes. She was startled to say the least, but something about the soft expression on the consulting detective's face calmed her down a little bit.

"What are you doing Sherlock?" She whisper yelled at him. He looked hurt at her words and she immediately felt bad. "Sorry, but really, what are you doing out here? Where is John?"

"He fell asleep about an hour ago," Sherlock explained, "he hadn't wanted to, he wanted to stay up, to make sure that you were okay, but he isn't used to not sleeping like I am. I promised to make sure you had someone here if you woke up again." From what Molly could see in the half light of the room Sherlock looked almost proud of himself.

Molly was surprised by the kindness in that simple offer. She had always known that Sherlock really did have feelings, even if they were buried deep, but she had never expected him to show it. "Thanks I guess." Molly responded quietly.

"Do you need tea or another blanket?" Sherlock asked obviously uncomfortable with the idea of having to care for another person. The idea briefly popped into Molly's head that maybe this was the first time Sherlock had ever really tried such a feat.

"No." Molly thought about simply turning over and going right back to sleep, but stopped short, she would probably not be getting to much more sleep tonight thanks to the dreams anyway. "What are you thinking about tonight Sherlock?"

He looked at her sadly for a long moment. He was not particularly old by most standards, but tonight the weight of the world shown in his eyes. "I should have done something."

There was a beat as Molly tried to understand what Sherlock was talking about. "I don't understand."

"I knew, and I didn't do anything. I should have done something." He stood from the kneeling position he had occupied next to the couch and walked towards the windows, and the only real source of light in the room.

Molly understood this time and as she understood she started to get angry. Sherlock had known, he had seen and hadn't even had the decency to mention it to someone who would help her. She wanted to scream, to yell at Sherlock until he understood, but she figured that John had probably talked to Sherlock about this already and that he had probably gotten mad enough for the both of them, so she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself and she chose not to say anything. Sherlock didn't say a word either, eventually he walked back over to where Molly now sat and gingerly perched himself on the foot of the couch. For a long while they just sat there together, looking at each other, but lost in their own thoughts.

Sherlock was the one to break the silence. "He fancies you. He won't tell you, might never tell you, but he fancies you." Even before he had finished the sentence Sherlock knew he had overstepped the boundaries of acceptable conversation, but it was too late to take back his words now.

"What?" Molly asked in surprise.

"John. He fancies you, but because of your current situation he would never say so, he is too much of a gentleman. I do realize of course that you are in no position mentally to be looking for any sort of romantic relationship, but you should have all of the facts I think."

Molly sat stunned at the rush of words from the consulting detective's mouth time and then nodded and thought about it for a moment. She certainly was not looking for another boyfriend, and the new information only gave her over-crowded brain more to think about, but something about the fact that Sherlock had mentioned this seemed like an apology. She wondered if perhaps that was exactly what that was to him. He was simply trying to the best of his limited social abilities to make amends.

"Thank you, I guess, for that um . . . information, Sherlock." He was right of course, he always was, but information was meant to be traded, otherwise gossip wouldn't exist. "I don't blame you at all."

Sherlock's head snapped up from his thoughtful position when Molly's soft voice reached his ears. "What?" It was his turn to ask for clarification.

"I don't blame you for not saying anything. Not really at least. It was my problem and my fault so I don't blame you." That was only a half truth, but the past is in the past and you can't change that.

Sherlock was obviously surprised by Molly's forgiveness of his oversights, but he remembered how she always been willing to do that. He nodded demurely though and whispered a quiet thanks, then the two continued to talk quietly for the next hour before Molly drifted back into an unstable sleep.

Unfortunately, this time Molly's peace did not last long and less than an hour later Molly was again awake, but this time instead of trying to return to the fitful sleep she figured that she had gotten as much sleep as she was going to get up and stop something with her day.

She found Sherlock at the kitchen table and had to smile when she noticed that he was working at a microscope; high quality by the looks of it. The sight was so normal -Sherlock sitting at a microscope and examining a cross section of something- , but so out of place in the kitchen that Molly had to giggle about it. Sherlock was startled at hearing Molly, so startled in fact that he nearly knocked over his currant slide.

"Sorry for scaring you," Molly said still smiling. "I just thought that you looked a little out of place there. Now, I figure I shouldn't expect to stay here for free. What do you two normally eat for breakfast?"

Sherlock looked at Molly for a long moment, sizing her up, trying to figure her out. "I rarely eat, but John usually makes himself a full breakfast. I am certain that he would not want you cooking though."

"You're right Sherlock," John's voice came sleepily from the stairs that led up to his room. "You should continue resting Molly. I can make up enough breakfast for the three of us. Why are you awake so early anyway? You can't have gotten much sleep."

"I could ask you the same question." Molly commented. She smiled at the sight of John standing in the entry way to the kitchen with his hair a mess and in a pair of flannel pants with a t-shirt, which she assumed took up the job as his pajamas.

John grinned sheepishly at the room when he was confronted about his early morning, but only raked his hands through his hair in response. Then he continued into the kitchen and passed a mug to Molly as he began a fresh pot of coffee. He wasn't about to admit it but it turned out that last night had been one of the few nights in recent memory that his own dreams reminded him of a past best left behind.

Sherlock sat, still at the kitchen table, and looked between the two in front of him. He could see it all there more plainly than any of the cases he accepted had ever been. John had slept without his shirt, but had put one on before leaving his room. Perhaps he was simply in the habit out of it, but more likely he had thought of Molly before leaving his room. The circles under his eyes had made one of their infrequent reappearances, darker than in recent memory, and told Sherlock enough about John's night that he knew exactly why the doctor was awake. Molly was watching John carefully, like she herself were trying to deduce everything about him, but Sherlock could tell that she was missing a few important details. His brain filed that particular piece of information under sentiment induced blindness and continued on with his observations.

Molly kept the coffee mug grasped tightly in her hands, like she didn't trust herself not to drop the mug on the floor. Her hair was a mess by most standards - due to her restless night no doubt – and Sherlock saw her unconsciously try to smooth it down with a hand as she gained more confidence with the cup. She smiled at John as he poured her some coffee, but the smile faltered almost infinitesimally. The conversation she and Sherlock had carried earlier about John was obviously making its appearance in the back of her mind. She was put at ease quickly though and soon was back to smiling at John as he told her some joke or another.

John eventually pulled himself together enough to herd Molly back to the table next to the still experimenting Sherlock Holmes and made quick work of a light breakfast for the three of them. Sherlock resisted the food at first but after a brief argument between the two flat mates Molly started giggling, taking all three by surprise, and shocking Sherlock enough to cause him to give up on the argument, and causing the rest of breakfast to occur in something resembling a friendly silence.


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